Living Between Countdowns
by FullMetal Edward
Summary: One Shot Character Studies - First one focuses on Dean, second focuses on Sam.
1. Chapter 1

**Living Between Countdowns**

Only one hour left. 

In spite of the fact that class had just started, Dean Winchester watched the clock and mentally willed it to go faster. At the front of the class the teacher was going on about something or other but Dean had it blocked out. To his side he could hear a few of the students whispering about the latest movie or television show that was supposedly "all the rage" but Dean had never heard of it and didn't really care.

As far the 17-year-old was concerned, only two things held any importance in his life. The first was his ability to hunt down and kill evil wherever he found it and the second was the ability to keep that same evil from killing his pain in the butt little brother. 

Everything else, such as school, was secondary.

Of course, added to that was the fact that Dean quite simply didn't GET school. 

He didn't understand the cliques and groupies, he neither knew nor cared about the latest music band or movie and he sure as heck didn't know how to fit into an environment where not only was there nothing that needed killing but there was nothing that needed protecting either. 

In short, Dean simply didn't fit in.

Moving around a lot made it worse as, in the past, Dean would no sooner start making friends then Dad would pack them off on the road again.

Eventually he gave up trying. At each new school Dean would find a place in the back and ignore all attempts at communication with other students. Even girls were roundly ignored inside of the school building.

Mainly, this was because Dean didn't know how to respond correctly in that atmosphere. Outside of school he was a hunter and a guardian and THAT Dean knew exactly what to say and how to act at all times.

Inside school he was expected to listen to teachers who didn't have the faintest idea of what waited in the dark and to care about "social activities" that Dean simply didn't have the time or patience for. 

Not that he'd ever admit it under pain of death but he felt lost in school and he despised not only feeling that way but also whatever it was causing the feeling. Hence, he hated school. Nobody wanted to talk about their latest target practice score and he COULDN'T talk about the last vengeful spirit they'd faced. He had actually tried once or twice talking about the rigors of trying to raise his baby brother but that went over about as well as talking about the gun he'd gotten for Christmas when he was twelve.

Man, he loved that gun. 

As if seeing his sudden grin, the teacher naturally chose that moment to ask him a question. Of course Dean, who didn't have the faintest idea what she had been talking about, fumbled and that of course led to snickers from his classmates who had, in addition to saddling him with a creepy loner title, had also labeled him as being not all that bright.

Personally, Dean thought it wasn't entirely bright to laugh at someone you thought was creepy but he let it go and added the moment to his ever growing list of reasons he didn't like school.

On the wall, the clock now showed only thirty minutes left. Dean shifted slightly in his chair and ignored the sidelong glances from students around him.

It seemed it was an eternity later that the bell finally rang and Dean was able to leave.

In his mind, the countdown continued even as he grabbed his backpack and headed out of the class and then the building. The school he was currently going too was a combination junior high and high school so he had to dodge his way around students ranging from around twelve to nearly eighteen.

Making his way over to the bleachers at the far end of the campus, overlooking the rather small athletic field, Dean climbed up on one and dumped his bag beside him. Reaching in, he grabbed his walkman and put it on and then sat his lunch down beside him.

Across the field, near the buildings, a lone figure detached itself from the mob and Dean's mental countdown began its last leg. 

A few moments later a shadow fell briefly over him and a small figure clambered up beside him on the bench.

At thirteen, Sam had only just entered junior high and barely made the registration deadline so that he and Dean could be placed in the same school. It was actually the first time the two of them had been in the same school at the same time. Sam was still small, though from the looks of it he'd be a freaking giant someday, and his presence didn't exactly do Dean's tough guy image a lot of good. It also didn't do any good for Sam's reputation as a good student.

As if either boy cared.

Sam cheerfully plopped his bag down and dug his own lunch out. Placing it on his lap, he grinned at Dean and said, "Hi."

The countdown reached zero.

Dean grinned back at him and ruffled the kid's hair, "Hey brat, how's it going?"

"Fine except for this crappy lunch someone made me," Sam groused, "it's all healthy!" Pulling out an apple he shot at glare at his brother, as they both knew full well who had made the lunch, and groused, "I couldn't even trade it! Any of it!"

Reaching into his own bag, Dean pulled out a large brownie he'd swiped from somewhere and held it out to his side without looking. It vanished immediately as if into a black hole and Dean just shook his head and accepted the apple that was shoved into his hand a moment later.

"What do you want for your birthday?"  
Well there was a question out of the blue. Glancing sideways, Dean raised an eyebrow and said, "What?"

"I know you heard me," Sam shot back, "What do you want?"

Dean shrugged and said, "An iron machete with a hollow handle that can hold rock salt, accelerant and matches."

Beside him Sam looked at him for a moment and then said, "Wouldn't it be better to just have a lighter in one of the compartments? That way you could have the accelerant and the actual light in one spot so it'd be faster and you would have less risk of the accelerant leaking out if the handle were damaged."

"True," Dean conceded, "Then we could put holy water in the final compartment."

"All you'd need would be a place to stick a Latin scroll and you'd have pretty much everything covered."

"Just about," Dean agreed, "Still are a couple of things out there you'd need extra stuff for."

"More compartments?"

"It'd end up too big."

Sam frowned, feeling challenged. and proceeded to haul a piece of paper out of his backpack and start drawing what he thought the ultimate all-in-one hunter's weapon would look like. He ate as he drew and Dean idly leaned over and watched the kid work.

In between eating and drawing, Sam also went through his standard spiel of trying to weasel Dean's lunch out of him under the pretense that he was starving to death. Since Dean was the one who kept the kid fed he knew it wasn't true but he still ended up handing over quite a bit of what he had packed in his own bag.

It was the main reason he packed twice as much in his as he would normally eat. Of course, he could just always pack more in Sam's lunch but then it wouldn't be near as much fun AND he wouldn't be able to hold his generosity over the kid's head later when trying to get him to do his chores.

Sam was still drawing away, and quickly finding a true all-in-one weapon would be too large to actually use, which is exactly what Dean had said; not that Sam would ever just take his word for it, when the bell rang to signal the end of lunch. Sam looked mildly irritated at having his line of thought interrupted but he obediently began to gather his things up, along with Dean, and the two began the trek back toward the buildings. Their final two classes lay in opposite directions from one another so they split up about halfway back, with Dean easily manipulating the younger teen into throwing away all of the trash on his way back.

He watched until Sam vanished into his own building and then Dean headed off toward his.

As he walked he glanced down at his watch and worked out exactly how much time was left until school let out and he and Sam could meet up again and go home.

In his head, a new countdown began.


	2. Chapter 2

Living in the Shadow

**Living Between Shadows**

Sam Winchester glanced at his illuminated watch dial for the umpteenth time and then settled again into the backseat of the Impala. His homework was scattered around him but it had grown to dark to really see it and he didn't want to use the flashlight and risk alerting anything to his position.

The 13-year-old looked out the window but could see nothing but darkened trees on the one side and the empty road on the other. Leave it to a Wendigo to live in the most out of the way, creepy place it could find.

Idly, he started gathering up his homework into a neat stack. Normally, he'd be thrilled at being left alone to study but that was during times when his father and brother weren't on a hunt. Sam wasn't allowed to hunt until he turned sixteen, the same age Dean had been on his first hunt, but it didn't mean he wasn't aware of the dangers they faced.

It was kind of hard to concentrate when the only family you had was out attempting to not get themselves killed. Especially when he already knew Dean had a self-sacrifice complex that compelled him to throw himself between his family and whatever it was currently threatening them.

Sam sighed and tried to quell the nervous feeling currently doing backflips in his stomach. His dad and brother had been gone over an hour and he was beginning to get worried.

Okay, he was beginning to get MORE worried.

Something made a loud thump noise outside the car and Sam jumped in surprise. Getting up on his knees on the seat he looked out the window but couldn't see anything. The noise came again and this time it was accompanied clearly by the words, "Sam, help me."

It was Dean's voice. Sam hesitated, his hands above the door handle. Reaching slowly, he rolled the window down just a bit and said, "Dean? What's wrong?"

There was silence a moment and then, "Sam, help me."

"What's the password?" Sam stammered but there was no answer. He called again but still there was only silence. Could Dean have passed out? And where was his Dad? Could they both be unconscious just feet outside of the car?

Again Sam pressed up as close to the glass as he could but it had grown into full night now and of course it was a New Moon so there was absolutely nothing to see by. Grabbing his flashlight, Sam took a deep breath and unlocked the car door. Dean and his father were all he had, he couldn't stand the thought of them possibly being right outside the car hurt and needing him to help save them. After all the times his father, and Dean in particular, had taken care of him how could he possibly not repay it?

He got out of the car.

The creaking of the door sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness and he only stepped an inch out onto the grass. Carefully, he flicked the flashlight on and started panning it along the ground.

"Dean?" he whispered.

There wasn't any answer and Sam hesitatingly walked forward, farther away from the safety of the car. He lifted the flashlight and kept training it along the ground and brush. At the very edge of the tree line he thought he saw a sudden flash of movement and he moved toward it.

"Dean?" His voice was louder now as he approached and suddenly Sam heard a voice in response.

"Sam?"

Sam froze. The voice was clearly Dean's and it was coming from a different direction than where he had originally heard it and from where he had seen the movement. It also didn't sound in pain or hurt.

"Sam? Was that you?" The voice was quiet but it was definitely Dean's and now another voice joined his, quieting him. With a slow sense of rising hysteria, Sam realized that would be his Dad no doubt reminding Dean that Sam would still be in the car as ordered and to remember that Wendigos had the ability to impersonate voices to lure foolish or unsuspecting victims out into the open.

Sam fit into the first category.

He never even consciously recognized what happened next as one minute he was standing in horrified, possibly petrified, fear and the next something was simply flying straight at him. Years of training by his father, and getting his butt regularly kicked by his brother, were the only things that had Sam immediately lunging in the opposite direction. He didn't quite make it as pain flared in his side and he screamed automatically in pain and shock. Landing hard on the ground, Sam rolled onto his back and began scrambling backwards even as he hysterically screamed for both his father and brother.

A heavy shadow loomed over him and Sam rolled to one side, away from it. Ignoring the pain in his side, he managed to somehow get to his feet and ran in the direction he'd heard his father and brother's voices coming from. Behind him the creature roared in anger and came after him.

Wendigos were fast, much faster than humans and certainly faster than 13-year-old boys.

Apparently, however, they weren't faster than determined fathers and brothers.

Sam slammed full force into a body and immediately freaked and lashed out only to have arms grab him and unceremoniously throw him down on the ground. Hands grabbed hold of his wrists, preventing his arms from flailing, and it was about that time that Sam's mind registered it was Dean holding onto him and their father was standing over both of them. Focusing in on his brother, Sam felt his terror lesson at once and he tried to concentrate on breathing and not shaking. Taking note of that, Dean let go of him and then stood back up to join John in their protective stance over Sam.

Of course the only reason they were keeping him alive now was so they could kill him themselves for getting out of the car but at this moment Sam would take that over being ripped apart by the Wendigo.

Speaking of which, hadn't it been right behind him?

The area was now silent as if nothing evil had ever been there. As the adrenaline started to wind down, the pain in his side began to make itself known and he put a hand to it. He felt wetness on his hand but there wasn't a huge amount of it and he couldn't really feel a lot of it coming out. He was pretty sure it was only a surface wound, had he not jumped instinctively it may well have gutted him. Still, even as a smaller wound, the blasted thing hurt like anything and that only added to his fear of the creature still lurking in the darkness.

Shifting slightly, he scooted closer to Dean's legs but made no attempt to try and get up. Continuing until he was barely touching him, Sam felt Dean shift back slightly so Sam could get closer but other than that he had no reaction.

Looking into the darkness himself, Sam could see nothing unusual. Kind of like how he'd seen nothing unusual right before being jumped by the Wendigo. That thought had him pressing harder into Dean's legs and, as the pain in his side began to throb more steadily, he turned and buried his face against the back of his brother's knee. It was childish and Sam knew that, at thirteen, he was far too old to be acting this way but he couldn't help it. He'd royally screwed up, nearly been killed, and was pretty sure his superficial wound must have been poisoned because surely it wasn't supposed to hurt that freaking much. Above him, his brother still didn't respond to Sam's movement but his leg tensed somewhat and Sam knew Dean had keyed into his behavior, as he always did, and was worried about him.

Off to Dean's left, from the corner of his eye, Sam saw a sudden movement in the darkness, an extra shadow that hadn't been there before, and he compulsively reached up and grabbed his brother's leg. He tried to cry out a warning but only a small whimper managed to escape. For his father and Dean, however, it was enough as both immediately turned and fired their flare guns at nearly the same moment.

Just like that it was over and Sam found himself simply watching as the creature burned in front of him.

Well that was anti-climatic, Sam found himself thinking, not to mention embarrassing in terms of how easily it had taken him down. Oddly transfixed watching the burning remains he failed to notice both his father and Dean were now kneeling down around him. It was only when Dean grabbed his wrists again that he startled and turned to look at him.

"Where are you hurt?"

"What?" Sam stared at him blankly and then said, "Oh, my side. It's not bad though."

A flashlight clicked on and aimed itself at his side and a moment later Sam felt his father lightly probing at his side. He hissed in pain and automatically tried to pull away but Dean kept his grip on his wrists and wouldn't let him. Settling back, his dad ran a hand over his face and then said, "You're lucky, it's not that deep. Probably going to need stitches though."

Great, Sam thought. He'd never actually needed stitches on anything before but his father and brother had often enough that he knew he most definitely didn't want them himself.

Moving to either side of him, Dean and John grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. Dizziness assailed him and he staggered slightly. Both men easily supported him and walked him back to the car. As they did, Sam felt himself relaxing again, the fear and agitation draining out of him. He always felt calmer, no matter what, when his family was around, he could probably be bleeding out on the ground and still would calm down if they showed up.

He always knew his dad and brother would be there to save him no matter what.

"So Sammy," Dean's voice drawled, "You want to explain what you were doing outside the car?"

Of course that brought up the question of who would save him from his dad and brother……………………………………………………..


End file.
